Sweet Wife in My Arms

Chapter 154: The Death Of Qing Yao

In Yan Huan’s previous life, Journey to Fairyland had not been as exciting as the current rendition of it. Back then, the spotlight had been on Liang Chen, and Liang Chen only—Wen Dongni’s Qing Yao had failed to capture the hearts of the audience, and Yan Huan now knew that it was probably because Liang Chen had deliberately out-acted her in every scene.

Yan Huan guessed that Wen Dongni had also stepped on Liang Chen’s toes in her previous life with her egoistic behavior, and Liang Chen had retaliated by piling on the pressure in every scene, causing Wen Dongni to lose her nerve and fumble in her role as Qing Yao. That was the most probable explanation, as Wen Dongni was actually a competent actress, and should have been able to give a passable performance under normal circumstances.

That night, Yan Huan slept soundly. She felt refreshed after resting for a day, and wished Liang Chen had not taken Little Bean with her. Little Bean’s meows would have made her temporary quarters feel a lot more like home. No, Yan Huan corrected herself, that apartment isn’t our home either—once I have the money, I’ll buy a house for myself and Yi Ling, and we’ll finally have a home to call our own.

The next morning, she left for the film set at the break of dawn; she had to arrive early as it would take several hours just to get her makeup done.

The weather was now very cold. Most of the production staff were wearing winter coats, but Yan Huan had to take her coat off every now and then for the makeup check. It was not a pleasant experience. Some of her scenes required her to show her arms and legs, and she always felt like a frozen popsicle afterwards.

Principal production progressed at a brisk pace; several days later, it was already time to shoot the final scenes for the show.

Standing atop his flying sword, Yan Boxuan raised his sword and pierced Qing Yao with it. Qing Yao collapsed, going into a free fall with outstretched arms—very few actors were capable of performing this stunt without a professional double because it was highly dangerous: there was always the risk of falling incorrectly and hitting their head against the floor. Director Jin had asked Yan Huan if she needed a double, but Yan Huan had said no. She was a professional stunt double herself, and would perform her stunts on her own.

Qing Yao opened her eyes. Red flowers bloomed in her vision—all she could see was a hazy, bloody fog.

She saw her past self. She was a little girl, hanging onto her father’s hand as they stood among beautiful flowers.

“Daddy, can we be fairies?” The little child asked Master Qingshan in her childish voice.

Master Qingshan knelt before his daughter and gently stroked her tiny face. “Yes, of course. As long as our little Yaoyao stays on her path and dedicates herself to cultivating, she’ll turn into a fairy one day.”

“I’ll do that! One day, I’ll become a fairy just like you, Daddy.” The little girl nodded confidently. She held onto her father’s large, capable hand as they walked into the distance.

Qing Yao knew that she would never be able to become a fairy now. Not in this life.

“Father, tell me, did I make a mistake?”

Her red lips parted and closed as she posed the question to both herself and her father, Master Qingshan. But there was no one left in the world who could answer her question.

She waited serenely for death to take her. The blue sky above her reflected in her open eyes. She could smell the sweet fragrance of flowers.

She had had so much time, and she had wasted all of it.

Suddenly, she smiled. She closed her eyes, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

That was the end. That was Qing Yao’s lonely, tragic death.

She deserved her fate, but everyone who saw her then could not help feeling an inexplicable pang of sorrow for her.

Perhaps the saying was true, after all: pity and hatred went hand in hand.

Yan Huan saw a profound connection between herself and Qing Yao. Qing Yao had lost everything, and so had Yan Huan in her previous life. They had both done despicable things in their lives, but they had also been the pitiful victims of fate.

They were entirely alone and helpless in the world. They did not have a place to call home, or relatives to rely on. They had nothing, and for them death was a welcome relief.